


Medic in Lace

by TheEnchantedQuill



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex In A Cave, Sexual Interfacing, Sexy Times, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valve Oral (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEnchantedQuill/pseuds/TheEnchantedQuill
Summary: Our favorite old mechs get some sexy time, featuring Ratchet in lingerie :)))Have patience this is my first smut fic
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	Medic in Lace

Alone time was a rare occurrence for two mates in a war. The Autobot base was small and packed, providing little privacy to Ratchet and Optimus’ sexual activities. It was hard to get into a good round of interfacing with Arcee’s room right beside theirs; she had never said anything, but there was an unspoken awareness between the three of them. It made things awkward, Ratchet never looked forward to running into her on his way out of their berthroom. During the day, whenever it seemed that they had time to fool around, the Decepticons would pop up on the monitor and they’d have to drop everything and go. The pair would give anything to have their own home to be alone together. 

When they did have some time just to themselves, they made the most of it. In order to have true privacy, they would leave the base, retreating to an uninhabited location with peaceful scenery to spend some time together. Optimus enjoyed views with bodies of water, and would often drag Ratchet into lakes and under waterfalls to kiss and cuddle. Ratchet just enjoyed being away from the others. 

This time around, they were in a cave. It was raining in their chosen location, and while Optimus found it romantic, Ratchet huffed and pointed to a cave a small way up the mountain they were visiting. It was early enough in the day that the mouth of the cave was illuminated, the sun peeking out between rain clouds. 

“Not our most stunning setting,” Ratchet flatly stared at the horizon, darkened by a grey sky. His armor was slick and shiny from the short trip up in the rain. Optimus liked the way it glinted.

“I’m content with the view.” He rumbled, optics traveling over his mate’s frame. Excitement made his optics sparkle. He felt. . . giddy.

A look of sass answered him; Ratchet turned on his heel and approached a box they had brought. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he warned when he felt Optimus’ delight perking up in their bond. “I may not fit like I used to. I’m not getting any younger.” 

“Of course.” 

A couple weeks before, Ratchet had gone through some of his old belongings that had been tucked away in boxes for years upon years. Some of it hadn’t been opened since the war started. Optimus had enjoyed reliving old memories with him, looking through old datapads, seeing what treasures his mate had preserved through all the fighting. 

Optimus was speechless when he found lingerie (or the robot form of it) in one of Ratchet’s boxes. 

It was a very sensual set of armor, form fitting, decorated with chainmail lace, black in color, a good contrast to Ratchet’s light colors. It was  _ very  _ skimpy in the aft area, and would barely hide the contents of Ratchet’s panel. 

Ratchet had laughed when he saw it, shaking his helm and tucking it back into it’s box. Optimus curiously prodded about it’s history, and what it was doing in Ratchet’s possession. He then, very delicately, asked Ratchet if he would wear it for him. 

At that moment, they didn’t have time to interface, and so the thought was put aside for the time being. When an opportunity to run off and mess around together presented itself, Optimus made sure to grab the accessory. 

“Let’s see if I can get my fat aft into this thing,” Ratchet muttered to himself, holding up the skimpy set of armor with a sigh. He stepped deeper into the cave, flashing Optimus a look that told him to turn away. Optimus lingered in the cave opening, staring out, trying to bury his excitement in his chest. He desperately hoped that Ratchet would still fit, after all this time. The thought of his handsome medic, dressed so sensually, made his frame run hot. 

Behind him, there was some grumbling as Ratchet made an effort. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for you.” The medic mumbled. 

Optimus smiled. A few minutes of his mate whining passed, in which he felt impatient and desperately excited. 

Finally, Ratchet cleared his throat. 

It took every bit of Optimus’ self control to keep from slamming him against the wall and having him there.

Ratchet looked incredible, his curves emphasized by thin black plating. His hips and thighs sent Optimus’ processor reeling. His array, panel pinned open by the tight armor, was displayed deliciously, covered by a very thin layer of lace that would snap open for access to his valve and spike. “Well,” Ratchet’s cheeks were tinged with a slight blush, “I still fit. . . Barely. What do you think?” He cocked one hip, stroking his own waist suggestively.

Optimus’ engines rumbled pleasantly. His spike was already hardening in it’s casing; he denied a request for his panel to open. “I think you are the sexiest doctor alive.” He smiled, optics glimmering. “Ratchet, you are stunning. Thank you for doing this.”

“Anything for my Prime.” The medic finally let himself smile, admittedly very flattered. 

There was then a change in Optimus’ voice. It deepened; arousal was still very present, but he now spoke with command, unmistakable power in his tone. When he spoke, Ratchet shuddered; he  _ loved  _ it when Optimus talked like that. “Turn around, Ratchet. Let us see how you look from behind.”

Now, make no mistake, Ratchet was a proud mech. He was not submissive in any stretch of the mind. His pride got in the way of being the submissive, obedient soldier and mate. But there was something so  _ exciting  _ about dismissing his pride, obeying his leader and showing him what he wanted to see. And in addition, Optimus was not a forceful lover, on the contrary, he was respectful and loving. When he experimented with his tone and power, and  _ demanded  _ Ratchet to bare himself, frag, it turned Ratchet on so much. 

Ratchet smiled, turning on his heel and facing his back to his mate. Slowly, he parted his legs a little and bent over as if he had dropped something, tilting his hips slightly. The armor felt very tight when he bent like this, but it felt so wonderfully errotic to have his aft and valve on display for his audience. 

Optimus’ engines revved hard at the sight. The armor did wonders for his aft, emphasizing every curve. Ratchet had always had a wonderful aft. He slowly approached, reaching out to trace the pattern in the armor with a gentle servo. Ratchet purred, looking over his shoulder with a mischievous smile. He was answered with a stinging slap to his aft. He jolted, gasping, blushing at how heat bloomed in his field and array. "Do you like that?" The Prime murmured in a low tone, shamelessly groping his medic. 

"I'm ashamed to say that I do." Ratchet chuckled, resting his servos on his knees to support his weight. He flashed a smirk over his shoulder, biting his lower lip. "Are you going to do it again?" 

He was answered with an equally seductive look and a second, harder strike to his aft. Optimus' palm left a stinging mark, the metal tinged slightly in agitation. This time, Ratchet's gasp was longer, softer, much more sensual. Optimus massaged the handprint he left, smiling.

“If I stay bent like this for much longer, my back will never let me sit up straight again.” Ratchet closed his optics and enjoyed his mate’s gentle touches, tracing the lace along his thighs and aft. “Where do you want me, Optimus?” He purred. 

Optimus straightened him up and turned him around, his engines humming in low, husky tones. Ratchet stretched for a moment, settling his now aching backstruts. His mate dropped to catch his lips, pulling their frames together. One large servo possessively cupped Ratchet's aft, while the other traced the seams along his thigh. Ratchet mapped out his intake with a talented glossa, moaning. 

"Where would hurt you the least?" Optimus broke the kiss for a moment, pressing their forehelms together. 

"On the ground with a pillow will do the trick." 

The Prime swept his mate off his pedes, gently laying him down on the flattest ground in the cave that he could find. He pulled a pillow from his subspace, slipping it under Ratchet's lower back for support. "Comfortable?" He rumbled, lowering to his knees in between Ratchet's parted legs. 

"As I can be." The medic smiled up at him. 

They watched each other for a moment, just existing together, before the lustful intensity returned to the Prime’s optics. "Open for me." Optimus ordered in a low growl, dipping his helm to kiss his mate's sparkchamber. 

Ratchet rested his servos on his own chest before slowly running them down his frame, down his sides to his hips, before they met in the middle at his array and snapped open the clasps. His valve clenched wetly at the sensation of Optimus watching him bare himself. He blushed at the predatory look he received. 

"So beautiful. . ." The Prime traced the outer folds of his valve with one digit, smearing lubricant along with it. He lowered to press a kiss to the sensitive nub crowning his outer node, a long digit sliding into his port easily. Ratchet whined at the intrusion, grinding his hips up into Optimus' servo. Another digit slipped in, and the two began to slowly slide in a gentle thrusting motion, scissoring him wide and stroking his inner walls. Optimus growled hungrily at how the valve clenched and sucked at his digits, cycling and pulling to bring them deeper. That sensation always felt wonderful on his spike, and he looked forward to it very much. Lubricant dripped and ran down Ratchet's aft, escaping from between Optimus' slender fingers. He began to tease the sensitive nub with his glossa, tenderly taking it into his mouth and suckling. Ratchet moaned, hips bucking and pressing up into the loving treatment. "You sound so sexy when you're excited." Optimus purred into his valve.

"Please. . ." Ratchet wiggled his hips and ground to meet the thrusting digits. 

Optimus' panel snapped back at the sound of Ratchet begging, his spike springing free, fully erect. Ratchet moaned excitedly, but the fingering didn't stop; he whined at the tender stroking along his inner walls. "Tell me, what do you want." Optimus sucked harder on his nub, and Ratchet cried out. 

"Optimus, please. . . I want you to spike me. . ." Ratchet obliged happily, tossing his pride aside to beg for his mate.

"Mm. . ." Optimus smirked, finally pulling his glistening fingers from Ratchet's dripping port. He crawled up to hover above his mate, his spike brushing Ratchet's thigh on the way up. Slowly, he dragged the tip through the folds of the soaked valve, before rubbing it against the nub. Ratchet moaned desperately, gripping Optimus' collar and grinding against the hot member. Slowly, Optimus began dragging the entire shaft against Ratchet’s nub, grinding at an antagonizing pace, stimulating the sensitive bundle with the underside of his spike. 

“Please, Optimus?” Ratchet pushed up against the spike, meeting the slow thrusts and grinding desperately, chasing the hot stimulation with quivering hips. 

His Prime increased his pace, drinking in the desperation in Ratchet’s voice. “Will you overload from this?” Optimus murmured, raising an optic ridge, smirking. 

A glare answered him. Ratchet’s servo darted between them in a frantic attempt to guide Optimus’ spike into his wanting port. Optimus caught his wrist, taking both of his servos and pinning them above his helm. “Optimus, put your damn spike in me, quit teasing!” Ratchet whined, writhing and jerking at the hold. “I’m done being patient, will you just frag me?!” 

“I think, if I just keep doing this. . .” The Prime held him firmly, continuing his pleasurable torture, teasing Ratchet’s nub with his hot shaft. “. . . You’ll overload, pinned beneath me, begging for my spike. . .” 

“Gh. . . Oh. . . Please. . .” Ratchet threw his helm back against the cave floor, thrusting his hips upward to meet the unforgiving strokes. The pace increased, Optimus now rolling his hips with fast rhythm, grinding harder. “Nn. . . Please. . . Inside me. . .” Ratchet’s words were lost in moans as he felt a climax building deep inside him, his valve clenching desperately. “Optimus. . . Oh, Primus!” His frame went rigid, back arching up to Optimus as he cried out, valve desperately tightening around nothing with a gush of lubricant. 

Optimus didn’t stop the long strokes until Ratchet deflated, slumping back down and sighing, his overload dying out. He released Ratchet’s wrists, sitting up and reaching under his thighs to angle his valve just right. The head of his spike nudged his port, the member throbbing wantingly.

“Not yet, just a moment, please, let me recover. . .” The medic whimpered, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. “I’m not as durable as I used to be. . .”

“Yet desirable as ever.” Optimus took one of his servos and kissed it. “You are so beautiful, you make the most wonderful sounds, you make me want you so badly. . .” His optics glimmered lovingly as Ratchet cupped his cheek.

Ratchet sucked in a breath, shifting to rest some weight on his elbows. “You'll have me if you're patient. . ." He muttered, his fans whirring loudly as his frame desperately tried to cool. "Alright. . . Go on then.” He purred, blinking the haziness from his optics. His valve clenched excitedly as his mate moved, adjusting his hips to push in with one thrust. Ratchet threw his helm back at the deep intrusion, his mate’s spike never failing to stretch him wonderfully. 

“Is this what you wanted, Old Friend?” 

“Please, hard,” Ratchet slumped flat and reached up to grip him. “No more of the gentle teasing scrap, please, I want you to frag me hard.” He stared up at his mate longingly. "I promise I can take it.'

Optimus stroked his thigh, resting sheathed in his mate. He thought for a moment, watching the medic's face. “You’ll tell me if your back starts hurting.” He said firmly, but his expression betrayed him. He wanted to ravage his medic badly, the idea of it made his spike throb in that wet heat, but he knew that Ratchet’s age betrayed him when it came to their rougher activities. He was always very hesitant when he was asked to be rough with the smaller mech.

Ratchet’s face lit up a bit and he smiled, nodding. “Please. . .”

Gripping Ratchet’s thighs, Optimus slowly pulled out, before slamming his hips forward, burying his spike to the hilt. His medic cried out, throwing his helm back and arching his back, barely having time to recover before it was happening again, Optimus’ hips snapping into him hard. Their armor clanked, Ratchet’s aft scraping back and forth across the ground as he was fragged. The ceiling nodes of his valves were repeatedly pounded, his inner walls stretched with every slamming thrust. 

“O-Oh! Primus! Nnh! Yes, please, don’t stop!” Ratchet’s voice was higher, more breathy, as he yelped and gasped and pleaded. “More, oh,  _ frag!”  _

Optimus was grunting with every forceful jerk of his hips, moaning deeply as Ratchet begged for more. He watched Ratchet’s face, enjoying how his optics flashed and how his mouth opened with every rough thrust. There was no sign of pain, nothing in his field or on his face, only intense pleasure. Optimus wanted to have him harder, wanted to hear him screaming. He shifted to have more leverage, taking one of Ratchet’s legs and straightening it, resting it on his shoulder, holding onto it to steel himself and pin Ratchet open wider. He quickened his thrusts, jerking his hips as hard as he could, slamming as deep as he could, desperate to feel how Ratchet’s valve clenched around him. He held his breath and kept quiet so he could hear the errotic, wet squelching Ratchet’s port made.  _ Frag,  _ he loved that.

“O-OPTIMUS! Oh, oh my-!” Ratchet couldn’t seem to keep his voice down, whining, crying, moaning, gasping, always making some sort of sensual noise that drove Optimus crazy. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Optimus thundered, groaning. 

“Yes, I-I want this,” his medic gripped his collar so tight that his paint peeled. “AH, Optimus, you. . . I love you, so fragging much, OH!” 

Optimus gripped his thigh, leaving dents as he pounded impossibly harder, feeling his spike throb, his charge building up, his frame suddenly on fire, the edge so close. . .

Ratchet’s valve tightened on him hard as he overloaded, his medic screaming as he climaxed. Optimus gasped at the tight heat, his own overload crashing through him, roaring as he tumbled over the edge. His spike spurted transfluid deep into his medic, milked to completion by the cycles of clenching from that wonderful port. 

Both of them gasped for breath, panting heavily for a few moments, slumping lazily. “Did I. . . Hurt you?” Optimus mumbled, releasing Ratchet’s leg and withdrawing slowly.

“I’m going to feel this tomorrow,” his mate shuddered at the sensation of Optimus’ transfluid dripping from his aching valve. “But frag, I needed that.” He smiled at the Prime, sighing. “You’re a damn good lover, Optimus.”

Optimus took his servo, holding it against his cheek. “You’re the one wearing lingerie for me.”

“It brought out something in you that I don’t get to see very often.” Ratchet chuckled. 

“Your. . . Enthusiasm surprised me. It’s not often that you agree to be my pretty eye candy for a day.”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “I am not always willing to be a submissive berthmate, don’t get your hopes up, but. . .” His cheeks tinted slightly. “I enjoyed it this time around. Perhaps we’ll experiment a little more in the future.” 

“That sounds wonderful, Old Friend.” 


End file.
